With the slightest nod, he bends to kiss my forehead. “It’s not too fast?” I’m pretty sure he knows he already has my permission. I haven’t been subtle, but before I can reply, he kisses me with more intention and less frantic energy, slowing things down. Too respectful,if I’m being honest. I may be a virgin, but I’m not naive. I know what I want. Keats. But I never took him for anything less than a gentleman.
I’m the one who pulls back this time, taking his hands in mine. His smile is sweet, and a timidness in the corners has me squeezing my grip on him even more. “It’s not too fast. I want this.” I wield honesty like a weapon to my advantage, desperately needing to satisfy an ache he’s awakened deep inside me.
I pull him with me, but he stops, bringing me to a halt with him. “Is this where we really want to be?” Glancing over my head, he grimaces. “It’s where your dad?—”
“I don’t mind.” As quick as I am with a plea tingeing my tone, one extra second gives me time to realize he’s right. I come here to remind myself of what power does to people. I take food and drinks and leave a mess in silent protest to get back at my dad. This isn’t where I should bring the good in my life. As much as I feel ready to be with my Poet, beholden by every word he speaks, this place is tainted when he’s what’s good in the world to me.
He’s love and beauty that I wasn’t sure existed before meeting him. God, am I already falling in love? Ready to throw myself at him to accomplish a self-inflicted goal of riddingmyself of something that feels more like a burden than an attribute?Yes.Keats is a writer and speaks in poetry, calls me Spark, and knows how to romance me. He grins, watching me exist in the universe without expectation or demands. Just accepts me as I am. What’s not to love?
That’s so attractive.
Geez, he won’t even let me seduce him in this apartment because he knows deep down how it makes me feel. The great view can’t counter that. And although I know he can, it shouldn’t be here. Not the first time or ever. We’re better than this.
“Hey.” His finger rakes below my chin, and he lifts until I see the understanding in his eyes. “Don’t think I don’t want you. I do. Admittedly, I would be with you here if I didn’t think it had repercussions attached to it. This place isn’t the best for you.”
“What’s best for me, then?”
“Being somewhere that doesn’t remind you of betrayal. That’s not something I want to be associated with when you think of me.” He leans down and kisses my cheek, lingering there long enough for me to close my eyes and inhale the musky scent of his chest. When his lips leave my skin begging for more, his arms wrap around me, holding me against him.
I wrap my arms around him, wanting him as close as can be.Why?Because he makes me feel special, like I’m the only one in his personal viewfinder. I like that he can’t take his eyes off me and feels comfortable enough to tell me the truth. He makes me feel protected, and that’s not something I’ve ever felt before.
He says, “You deserve better than that, Spark.”
There’s no trying it on for size anymore. That’s the name, and I’ll grow into it, though hearing his dulcet tones claim it like a possession has me wholeheartedly embracing it.
As for what I deserve . . . I’m not sure, but I don’t feel worthy of him right now. What did I do other than smoke his cigarette and take up most of his time on his short break? I slide my chinover the cotton of his button-up shirt, which he’s still wearing from work, looking as handsome as ever, and offer, “We can go to my room back at the house.”
His eyes widen before his face settles again from the shock. “Um. I’m not looking for that kind of trouble.” He waffles his head on his neck and says, “Look, it’s not the Ritz-Carlton or anything, but I live alone in a small studio?—”
“That sounds perfect.”
He chuckles. “You might want to hear the rest before you agree to come over.”
“I don’t care unless rats are running around.”
Lowering his hands to my hips, he rocks me back and forth. “No rats. Not in the past six months anyway.”
“Oh great.” I shudder from the thought.
His laughter grows louder. “I’m kidding. It’s been at least eight,” he deadpans. I’m hoping he’s joking, though I’m not sure anymore.
Waggling my finger in front of him, I warn, “I’m trusting you.”
He grabs it, then kisses the tip. “I’ll protect you, I promise.”
I grin with pride, already aware that I’m in safe hands when it comes to us. If only he could protect me from the life I’m avoiding. “I’m holding you to it.” Hope blooms as if it had been on standby waiting for him, hope that had been long buried years prior is renewed, and comfort flows through me as I stare into the warmth of his eyes. If only I’d met him before instead of when I’d run out of time.
I move out of his arms, though that’s the last thing I want to do, and start gathering the glasses. It will get us out of here sooner, before momentum is lost in the wee hours we’re operating under. And I return to being a dutiful daughter tomorrow.
Keats crosses his arms over his chest and peers out the window. With his gaze lengthening, he says, “I don’t know how we’re even standing at this point. Do you know what time it is?”
“I don’t want to know because I’ll get tired.” Walking into the kitchen, I say, “I think at this stage, we’re powered by ramen and adrenaline.”
“Attraction helps.” His words are as light as his tone, stating facts. The physical attraction is undeniable, but the chemistry with him, the comfort in my own skin, has me realizing he doesn’t make me feel small in his presence despite the size difference. I cling to that tidbit that means more to me than he’ll ever know.
I wash one glass and set it on the counter. When I reach for the other, it slips from my soapy hand and shatters in the sink. “Shit.”
Rushing over, he takes me by the wrist to investigate the wound as if it’s life-threatening. Turning on the water, he dips my hand under it and says, “You’re bleeding.”
